


hallelujah (record skip)

by GreyMichaela



Series: Chris and Mika [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: A little, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Body Worship, Chris Kreider grow your curls out challenge 2K19, Coming Untouched, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mika needs something to grab, Some angst, kink discussion, not a lot but y'know, this ship needs more fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: Chris never stops moving. Mika makes him be still.





	hallelujah (record skip)

**Author's Note:**

> RPF disclaimer: yada yada, we've all read it
> 
> This is a continuation (I mean obviously) of my first Mika/Chris fic but can be read alone.

Chris doesn’t have an off switch. Mika’s known him for years, played against him and then with him, and in all that time, he’s never seen Chris truly slow down. Playing his guitar or curled up on the couch reading, he’s tapping a finger, bouncing his foot on his knee, humming under his breath. Only when he’s asleep is he truly still, and even then, his eyes move rapidly under their lids, limbs twitching faintly as if with pent-up energy.

Mika loves that about him, loves the way Chris is up for anything no matter what. But he wonders, sometimes, if it’s a choice. If Chris  _ wants _ to be so constantly on the go, or if sometimes he’d like to slow down, relax.

Mika’s curled up in the window seat where he has the best light, laptop balanced on his knee and headset in place. His friend had sent him some new beats and Mika is pretty sure he can do something with them. He looks down, where Chris is half-asleep with his head in Mika’s lap. Even drowsing, his finger is tapping absently against his thigh, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

Mika smooths a hand over Chris’s close-cropped hair. “Wish you’d grow this out,” he murmurs.

Chris makes a contented noise and turns over so he can drape an arm across Mika’s hips. The window seat isn’t really built for two, let alone two big men, but Mika would die before moving.

 

A paintball goes zinging by Mika’s ear and he ducks on instinct, even knowing there’s no point. Chris grabs his arm and drags him behind a straw bale. 

“Stay close!” he shouts. Behind the plexiglass mask, his eyes are ringed with white, mouth stretched in a diabolical smile. He’s having the time of his life, Mika knows, and he follows resignedly when Chris bursts out of their hiding place, firing as fast as he can toward where Brady and the others have holed up.

 

He’s all over Mika in the shower after, rubbing up against him, hands restlessly roaming across Mika’s wet skin.

“That was a disaster,” Mika says as Chris presses him up against the cold tile to kiss his throat.

“Depends—” Chris nips at his jaw. “—How you look at it.”

“How do you—” Mika draws a sharp breath at Chris’s teeth scraping over his skin. “Look at it?”

“Got you naked, didn’t I?” Chris says, grinning at him, and drops to his knees.

 

The flashing lights are giving Mika a headache, the driving thump of the bass making it worse. But Chris is so happy, dancing like he doesn’t have a care in the world, head flung back as he gyrates to the music, and okay, Mika definitely doesn’t mind the way he’s grinding up against Mika’s groin, hips sinuous and the line of his throat captivating in the strobing light. Mika wants to grab him, drag him from the club, pin him down and fuck him until Chris can’t say anything but his name, but then Chris lets his head fall back against Mika’s shoulder, still moving to the music, and Mika dips his head, buries his nose in the crook of Chris’s neck. Chris smells like clean sweat and tequila and his cologne, spicy-sweet and alluring, and he reaches back to cup the nape of Mika’s neck, heedless of who might be watching.

Mika closes his eyes, briefly overwhelmed.

“You should be up there,” Chris shouts over the music, and Mika opens his eyes.

“Where?”

Chris indicates the DJ, who—well, Mika’s inclined to be charitable. The DJ is doing his best, he’s sure. He leans in, close to Chris’s ear so he doesn’t have to shout.

“Rather be here,” he says, and Chris shivers all over.

“Geographically or with me?” he asks.

Mika smiles at him, dark and full of promise. “You know the answer to that one.”

Chris catches Mika’s wrist and drags him toward the exit.

 

_ “Fucking bullshit!” _ The words are accompanied by a loud crash, and Mika nearly falls out of his chair, scrambling out of the den to skid into the front hall, where Chris is winding up to kick the trash can again.

“What the fuck is going on?” Mika demands.

Chris sends the trash can flying down the hall. His fists are balled, fury drawing his shoulders tight. Mika takes an instinctive step forward and Chris turns to him as Mika reaches tentatively for him.

“What happened?” he asks, sliding a hand up Chris’s arm.

Some of the tension leaks from Chris’s body and he shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he mutters.

Mika draws back. “Don’t do that. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Chris scowls and leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. “It’s raining,” he says, as if that explains everything.

“Okay,” Mika says. He brackets Chris’s wrist gently and tugs him out of the entryway, into their kitchen. Chris is right—the skylights show it’s a dreary, drizzling gray outside, clouds blocking any sign of the sun. Mika puts the kettle on and pushes Chris into a chair, then straddles him. 

Chris leans back, hands coming to rest on Mika’s thighs, and almost smiles as Mika loops his arms around Chris’s neck.

 

From the outside, people expect Chris to be the openly affectionate one, the one who can’t get enough of cuddles and PDA. And they’re right, to a great extent—Chris isn’t ashamed of being tactile, of wanting to be in constant contact with not just Mika but anyone he truly cares about. Mika’s found him in a puppy pile of Brady, Jimmy, and Filip during a roadie more than once before, often entreating Henke to join them (he never did, probably because it would have messed up his hair).

But if possible, Mika’s even more physically needy than Chris. He exploits the fact that he’s European to a shameless degree, using it as an excuse to drape himself over Chris at every opportunity, knowing people write it off because of where he’s from. And when they’re in private, he’s not happy unless they’re touching. He’d wondered, at first, if Chris was bothered by Mika’s hunger for contact, and even tried to rein it in, but Chris just grabbed Mika’s hand or pulled his arm around him every time they were alone, until Mika got the message.

“Tell me what happened,” Mika murmurs, scratching Chris’s scalp gently with blunt fingernails.

Chris sighs, shoulders lowering. “‘S stupid,” he mumbles.

“Mhmm.” Mika waits, knowing Chris is working his way up to whatever the point is.

“There was an article,” Chris finally says.

Mika makes an encouraging noise, resettling his weight.

“It—it was  _ stupid, _ the writer had no fucking clue what he was talking about, he—” Chris blows out a gusty sigh and turns his face into Mika’s hand.

“You know you shouldn’t read articles about yourself,” Mika said, stroking his cheekbone with a thumb. He loves Chris’s face, his mobile eyebrows, high cheekbones and expressive mouth. He wishes, sometimes, that he was an artist, so he could capture the quirk of Chris’s eyebrows, the wry twist of his mouth when he’s made someone laugh, the light that gleams deep in his brown eyes.

Chris hunches his shoulders again and mumbles something.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Chris sighs. “I  _ said, _ it wasn’t about me. I mean it was, but it was more about… us.” He pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and shows the screen to Mika.

CHRIS KREIDER AND MIKA ZIBANEJAD ARE NOT WORTH WHAT WE’RE PAYING THEM, the headline reads.

The kettle goes off with a shrill scream, and Mika jerks, startled, and scrambles off Chris’s lap. He makes tea for both of them on autopilot and sets Chris’s mug on the table before settling in the chair beside him. Chris slides the phone over to him silently and Mika begins to read.

Rain patters on the skylights. The kitchen is bathed in cool gray light, the tile floor cold even through Mika’s socks. They need to talk to the landlord about updating the heating system, he thinks absently as he reads, random phrases spinning past.

_ Kreider is all flash and no substance. Zibanejad, while more reliable, has very little in the way of actual talent. Their saving grace is the almost-telepathic link that allows them to connect on long-shot passes and desperation plays that wouldn’t be necessary in the first place if they were better players. Are they past their prime? Maybe it’s time to look for younger players, ones that can help the Rangers’ rebuild take the right shape. _

“It’s bullshit,” Mika finally says. He takes a sip of his tea and pushes the phone back across the table.

“I know,” Chris says, pocketing it. “But—”

“No,” Mika interrupts. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He’s angry, but it’s formless, without a target. He turns the mug in his hands, steam rising from it. “Who cares what some idiot on Puckdaddy thinks?”

“Trade deadline’s coming up,” Chris says, and there it is, what’s really weighing on him. The words hang between them and Mika swallows hard.

“Neither of us is going anywhere,” he says softly, but Chris doesn’t look at him.

“Maybe he’s right,” he says to the table. “Without our salaries tying up the cap, maybe Gorton could find some young talent that could get the team further.”

_ “Enough!” _ Mika says, slapping the table. Chris’s eyes widen, and Mika glares at him. “You’re being  _ stupid,” _ he hisses. “Gorton won’t trade us.” He stands abruptly and rounds the table, staring down at Chris, who tilts his head back to look up at him. “And if he did?” Mika says. He draws a thumbnail along Chris’s jaw, over the stubble and soft skin. “If he did, Chris, what then? Would you break up with me? Would I lose you?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, Mika. Never.”

“Not even if we go to different teams? Halfway across the country or more?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Chris says, jaw jutting stubbornly.

“What if I retire? Move back to Sweden?” Mika presses.

“I’d follow you,” Chris says immediately.

Mika has to stop, take an unsteady breath at the love and unshakable trust in Chris’s eyes. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” He smiles down at him. “Come to bed,  _ älksling.” _

Chris follows him out of the kitchen, crowding close against Mika’s back down the hall and hooking his chin over Mika’s shoulder. His breath is warm and sweet on Mika’s cheek, and Mika reaches back, catches Chris’s arms, and pulls them around his waist.

Their walk is a little awkward, but neither of them really care. Chris is preoccupied with kissing every part of Mika’s face he can reach, and Mika is enjoying it too much to worry about where he’s going, which backfires when he bumps into the bedroom door.

Chris laughs soundlessly against his ear. “Loser,” he whispers, and nips Mika’s earlobe.

Mika shivers and gropes for the door handle. It takes him three tries but he finally gets the door open, dragging a still-laughing Chris over the threshold. Inside, he turns to face him. Chris quirks an eyebrow at him, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Take your clothes off,” Mika says.

Chris’s eyebrow climbs another fraction of an inch. “You gonna make me?” he purrs.

Heat lances through Mika’s stomach. “Do you  _ want _ me to?” he counters.

Chris shrugs, affecting nonchalance. “Maybe.”

Mika takes a step toward him, watching Chris’s reactions like a hawk. Chris licks his lips, settling his stance, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“You want me to take control again?” Mika says. He trails a finger down Chris’s bare arm, enjoying the goosebumps that rise in the wake of his touch. “Like I did in Sweden?”

Chris shudders, eyes slipping closed. “Yes, Mika,  _ please—” _

“I’ve got you,” Mika croons. He circles Chris’s motionless form, stepping up close behind him until their hips are molded together. Like this, Chris can surely feel Mika’s cock, half-hard but rapidly getting stiffer. Mika slips a hand around, cups Chris’s already hard shaft, and groans appreciatively. “Love your cock, baby. Remember what I said I was gonna do to you?”

Chris’s hips jerk and his head falls back against Mika’s shoulder. “Please,” he says raggedly. “Please will you do that?”

It’s Mika’s turn to nip at his earlobe. “If you’re good,” he murmurs.

“I’m good,” Chris says. He’s trembling all over with the effort of being still. “I can be so good for you, Mika, I can—”

“I know you can, sweetheart,” Mika says. He cups Chris’s face and turns his head until their lips meet. 

He loves kissing Chris. They’ve spent hours before languidly making out in the window seat, wrapped up in each other and simmering with arousal but neither feeling the need to take things past lips and tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Mika thinks if he could spend the rest of his life kissing Chris, he’d die a happy man.

Chris tastes like black tea, breath puffing soft and warm across Mika’s cheek. The angle is awkward, Chris’s head tilted back and cranked sideways, his back still pressed to Mika’s chest, but he doesn’t try to move, content to stay where Mika puts him.

Mika loves him  _ so much. _ He has to break away after a minute, overwhelmed, and kisses his way down Chris’s long, lovely throat. Chris sighs, melting into it, and Mika walks them toward the bed, mouth still busy. He eases him onto it, and Chris sprawls unselfconsciously across the comforter, hand out to pull Mika in, but Mika doesn’t go. He stands at the edge of the bed and looks his fill. Chris arches his back, preening shamelessly. He lifts his shirt, exposing his perfect abdomen, and runs a hand over his stomach. through the line of hair leading below the waistband of his jeans.

Mika’s mouth waters. “Take your clothes off,” he repeats.

“But what if I want you to do it for me?” Chris counters.

Mika narrows his eyes. “I think you want to do what I tell you, or you’ll get punished.”

Chris’s eyes go wide. “Would you—”

“If you want me to,” Mika says. Chris gulps, staring up at him like Mika is a dessert waiting to be devoured. “But not without talking about it first.” He takes a step closer. “And I don’t feel like talking right now. So take. Your clothes.  _ Off.” _

Chris swallows hard. His hands are shaking when he reaches for his belt buckle, and Mika’s heart softens. He doesn’t offer to help though, watching hungrily as Chris manages to wriggle out of his jeans. He sits up just enough to grab the back of his shirt and drag it off over his head. Naked, he falls back onto the bed and holds out a hand again but Mika ignores it.

He trails fingers down Chris’s bony shin, over the softly curling hairs to the knobbly bump of his ankle. Chris says nothing as Mika lifts his foot and explores it with gentle fingertips, although he twitches when Mika traces over the graceful arch.

“Zee,” he finally says, as if nearing the end of his patience.

Mika hums an acknowledgment and sets Chris’s foot down. He leans over, still standing at the edge of the bed, and gets the bedside table drawer open. 

Chris swallows hard when he pulls out a condom. “You don’t—I mean, if you don’t  _ want _ to, you don’t need that.”

Mika stares down at him. “It won’t really feel any different for you.”

“But it will for  _ you,” _ Chris says. “If you want.” He shrugs, looking suddenly diffident. “I’m clean, I mean I know you know that, but—”

Mika straddles him in one swift move. He knows the roughness of his jeans is rubbing against Chris’s cock, and he can’t resist grinding down briefly, just to watch Chris’s eyes cross as his mouth falls open.

“Is that what you want?” he murmurs. “You want me to fuck you bare, let my come drip from your ass when we’re done, feel it run down your legs?”

Chris shudders violently, squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away as a flush crawls up his throat. “Fuck, Mika,” he chokes.

Mika reaches between them. If anything, Chris is even harder than before, leaking all over his belly and Mika’s fist. Mika strokes him once, twice, twisting his wrist and watching the way Chris shakes, holding onto the bedspread.

Chris frees a hand and reaches for him. Mika slaps it away.

“Don’t touch me,” he says. 

Chris is panting openly, whole body strung taut like a bow. “Mika, please,” he begs, and Mika strokes him again, rough and a little mean, just enough to make him forget what he was going to say.

Then he slides off the bed and straightens. 

Chris is a wreck, sprawled on the mattress with hair rumpled and mouth kissed red. His eyes are dazed, and it takes him several tries to prop himself on one elbow.

Mika pretends to ignore him, attention focused on taking off his clothes, folding them neatly, stacking them at the end of the bed.

When he can’t delay any longer, he turns back to Chris, who’s staring at him like he’s never seen him before.

It’s a rush, having this big, powerful man so willing and  _ eager _ to do everything Mika says. Part of him wants to push Chris, see how far he can take his obedience. But there’s trust in Chris’s eyes too, trust and surrender, and Mika would die before risking that. 

So he reaches for the lube and crawls on the bed between Chris’s spread thighs. He strokes the quadriceps, watching the way the hairs spring back under his fingers, the soft indent of skin when he presses lightly against the muscle.

“Mika,” Chris whines, but Mika ignores him, running a palm over his knee and down, across his shin again.

Chris twists and nails him in the ribs with his free heel, making Mika grunt. He catches Chris’s ankle before he can kick him again.

“Don’t you dare,” Mika warns, fighting laughter.

_ “Do _ something then,” Chris dares him, pulling at the hand wrapped around his leg.

“Or what?” Mika shoots back.

Chris flounders. “Or… or I won’t blow you.”

Mika laughs outright at that. “Like you’ll pass up any opportunity to get your mouth on my cock.”

“Shut up,” Chris mutters, but there’s a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Come on, Mika, please—”

“Watch me and don’t move,” Mika orders, and pops the cap of the lube. 

Chris’s eyes are intent on Mika’s face as he gathers handfuls of the bedspread again. Mika wants to kiss him, so he does, leaning over and bracing himself on his clean hand to explore Chris’s mouth.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers against his lips, and Chris snorts.

“Liar.”

“You’re perfect to me,” Mika says, biting Chris’s lower lip just to hear him moan. “So don’t fucking argue.”

Chris’s breathing is unsteady but he doesn’t say anything, so Mika kisses him again swiftly before sitting up. He coats a finger in lube and Chris spreads his legs, eyes rapt on Mika’s face.

“Keep watching me,” Mika tells him, and pushes inside with no further warning.

Chris’s back bows and he gasps. He’s silken-soft and molten hot around Mika’s finger, clenching as if trying to pull him deeper.

Mika doesn’t spend much time on just one finger, too impatient to wait. He adds another finger, pressing in as far as he can go as he watches Chris’s face.

Chris’s eyes are still steady on him, but his eyelids flutter as Mika crooks his fingers, rubbing across the bundle of nerves at Chris’s core.

“F-fuck, Mika,   _ please—” _

“Soon,” Mika promises. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You w-won’t,” Chris manages. His chest is heaving, flushed pink as he struggles to breathe. “I can take it, Zee, you know I can. I  _ want _ to.”

Mika slows his hand, looking contemplatively into Chris’s earnest brown eyes. “You want me to fuck you now, without any more prep?”

“Oh please,” Chris breathes. “Please will you?”

Mika bends forward, pressing his forehead to Chris’s breastbone. “I love you so much,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” Chris says immediately. “Please fuck me now, I’m dying and I need your cock inside me.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Mika says, grinning, and kisses Chris’s chest before sitting up again. He pushes on Chris’s leg, lifting it, and Chris gets the message and grabs it. Mika takes a moment to enjoy the sight of him spread open and waiting, but then Chris wriggles, making a plaintive noise. 

Mika shuffles forward on his knees and grips his cock, lining it up. Chris’s opening is tight. He’s going to have to force his way inside. He looks up, suddenly unsure, and Chris nods.

“Do it, Zee, please.”

Mika firms his jaw. “Bear down against me,” he says.

Chris rolls his eyes. “Not my first— _ oh shit—” _

Halfway in, Mike can’t help the smug grin. “You were saying?”

Chris resettles his grip on his leg. “Shut up and fuck me, goddammit.”

Mika narrows his eyes and slides the rest of the way home without pausing, until his hips are flush with Chris’s ass.

Chris is breathing hard, sharp and short through his nose, and staring at the ceiling. Mika pinches his nipple, not gentle, and Chris yelps, gaze flying to Mika’s face. 

“Eyes on me,” Mika says.

Chris says nothing, but he fixes his eyes on Mika’s. Mika smiles at him, soft and helpless with all the love he can’t help feeling, and Chris almost laughs, wrapping his hands around Mika’s hips to pull him closer..

“Come on, baby,” he says.

The noise Mika makes is not dignified, but neither of them care. He pulls out, then pushes in again, slow and steady, making Chris writhe where he’s pinned to the bed. It takes Mika a minute to find his rhythm, but eventually he settles into a groove, hard thrusts in and then a slow, dragging retreat each time, until Chris is shaking, hands unsteady as he grabs at any part of Mika he can reach.

Mika shifts, changes his angle, and Chris cries out, spine arching.

“Mika, Mika  _ please, _ just like that, more—”

Mika obliges, keeping Chris’s hips tilted so he nails his prostate with every pass. Tears leak down Chris’s cheeks but he keeps his eyes on Mika’s.

“Feels so good,” he pants. “‘M so close, I’m—”

“Can you come untouched?” Mika asks, not losing his rhythm.

Chris shakes his head desperately, more tears sliding down his face. “Please touch me, please—”

“No,” Mika says experimentally, and is shocked when Chris sobs and comes, body locking up tight with ecstasy as he stripes his belly with hot come.

Mika swears under his breath. Chris is almost painfully tight around him, but he’d rather die than pull out. He thrusts again, and again, chasing the edge just out of sight, as Chris blinks the tears away and focuses on his face.

“Come inside me,” he breathes. “Come on, let me feel it.”

Mika slips his clean hand into Chris’s mouth, three fingers stretching his lips wide, and Chris takes a startled breath around them and sucks, hard. Mika swears again, thick and helpless, and topples over the precipice, spilling in helpless jerks deep within Chris’s body.

Chris holds him through it, whispering words Mika can’t make out over the ringing of his ears. Finally, he groans and pulls out, just enough presence of mind to drag his wet fingers from Chris’s mouth. He watches, spellbound, as a trickle of come seeps from Chris’s ass.

“We need a plug,” he says suddenly. “So I can fill you up and keep you that way.”

Chris’s cock twitches feebly and he whimpers. “Are you  _ trying _ to kill me?”

Mika crawls up the bed, collapsing beside him. “If you die, who would I go to for sex?”

Chris turns his head to glare at him. “No one. You would die alone, unable to recover from my untimely demise.”

Mika laughs and kisses his nose. “Exactly. So you have to stay alive, for me.”

Chris rolls sideways, burrowing against him and burying his face in his throat. “I guess I can do that,” he whispers, and Mika can feel his smile against his skin even as he drops into sleep and finally, finally goes still in Mika’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Both titles are from Stop That Train by AWOLnation and I refuse to apologize for liking their music 
> 
>  
> 
> [Come find me on Tumblr, where I have feelings about dumb boys on knife shoes!](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com)


End file.
